There’s and underlying fear wrapped around and through my hopefulness for the future. It’s a fear that, even though I’m falling, that even though it’s good, that even though you’re good — that there’s still uncertainty in our story.
Determined to put myself in a better frame of mind, I let my mind meander, I let it remember moments and pieces of past happenings. I let it put these remembrances together with my hopes and daydreams, in a sort of half-true vignette. This is how my mind works, this is the way my thoughts wander.
It’s in the way you wake slowly, eyes blurred by sleep, reaching out to pull me into your curve before leaving me with a kiss on my shoulder and pulling the blanket up to cover the exposed skin. You roll back, grabbing your glasses from the night stand, setting them to your face before peeling back the covers and slipping from our nest and making your way with shuffling feet down the hallway toward the kitchen where the dogs wait not-so patiently to be let outside.
Suddenly caught by the cold, I shiver, rolling toward the warm spot you left behind as I pull the blankets tighter around me. The sound of grinding beans and the running faucet lull me back into the space just this side of sleep. The sound of mugs clinking and your quickly shuffling feet pull me back just in time to see you slide into view, perfectly framed in the doorway.
You stand there for a moment in your boxers and white t-shirt, surveying the mess I’ve made of the blankets in my search for warmth. Smiling and shaking your head, you bend at the waist and begin creeping toward the bed, making threats of what I’m in for if I don’t wiggle my way back to my side of the bed. Completely buried in the covers with only my eyes exposed, I shoot you a look of, you wouldn’t dare as I begin to squirm back to my side of the bed while you move ever closer. You take a quick sip from the mug, setting it down on the nightstand before you grab the edge of the comforter, whipping it up and skillfully throwing yourself beneath, bringing us nose to nose.
“You let out all the warmth when you do that, you know,” my lips brushing softly against your smile while I make my playful accusation.
“Maybe I meant to do that,” you say. Your arms slip beneath my pillow and around my middle, “You don’t feel cold to me,” you say as you slide your hand against the warm skin of my lower back.
“WHA—! That’s freezing!” I half-shout-half-giggle, rolling just out of reach.
We lay like that for a moment, still close and facing one another, but not touching. I’m trying to memorize this moment; trying to save the look of satisfaction on your face as a result of your successful trickery, the way your hair stands up at the back, the way your stubble grows in unevenly, the way I go weak when I feel those eyes on me; even more so when they lock with mine.
“You didn’t even bring me coffee?” I point out, feigning disappointment.
A look of concern falls across your face, “I didn’t think you were awake. Do you want me to go pour you a mug?”
“No,” I smile and yawn, “I’m awake now. I guess I don’t really need coffee with you around.”
With the concern gone as quickly as it had appeared, you smile sleepily as you hunker further under the covers, “That’s right, no coffee for you.”
“Psh, who needs it?” I whisper, “Your wake-ups are only slightly more abrupt. And a little chillier.”
You reach once more across the bed and pull me into your chest, arms around my shoulders. I wrap my arms around your middle and tuck my head beneath your chin.
“Back to sleep, we go?” I ask.
“Yes please, I’m exhaaaausted,” you mock softly as you remove your glasses, setting them beside the mug of cooling liquid before pulling the blanket over our heads suddenly and most completely.
Giggling, I kiss the space where your collar bones collide. Scooting closer, I wrap my arms tighter, and I let myself fall back into that place between awake and sleep because I know I’m safe here. I know I’m loved here.